


Let's Save Adam

by HidingFromTheSpotlight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Psychological Torture, Rescue, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:29:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HidingFromTheSpotlight/pseuds/HidingFromTheSpotlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam Milligan has been left to rot in the bottom of the Cage. He's lost hope and his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Save Adam

**Author's Note:**

> Let's play the how long can I pretend that everything's okay game.

Pain. _Adam, sweetie, why are you crying_? Blood. _Smile for mummy, baby_. Screaming. _Who’s a smart little boy_? Tears. _Mummy loves you_. Sweat. _Look how you’ve grown, my darling_! Loss. _Mummy’ll fix it_. Broken. _I love you, honey. Forever and always_. Eternity. _Just hold on, sweetie, mama’ll be there soon._ Lies. _Mummy will make it all better_. Exposed. _I’ll be there for you_. Madness.

Gone is rhyme. Gone is reason. Gone is hope. Now there is only the bitter taste of fear coating your tongue like the pond scum of stagnant waters. But worse than the fear is the apathy. That is the point when you cannot be saved, cannot be rebuilt, and cannot be awakened. Because you just don’t care anymore. Someone could be forcing a drill into your ear, or a red hot poker down your throat, and you just wouldn’t care. You feel the pain, but you don’t see the point. It’s worthless, all of it. No amount of torture can drag you out of this abyss. No amount of caressing and coddling can reawaken your emotions, for they are in a slumber so deep they may as well be dead. _You_ may as well be dead. You’re lonely, but you’re never alone. The voices outside and the voices inside clamour for your attention, but like a disinterested parent, you do not notice them. This is hell and this is heaven. This is your heaven and your hiding place, deep within your crumbling shell where nothing can touch you. This is your cage and you gladly incarcerate yourself within it. You bring your own chains to tie around your throat like a scarf. You do not mind if they choke you to death, but it doesn’t matter if they don’t. Your life is unimportant. You are unimportant.

At first, you clung to hope. Despite the beatings, despite the bruises and the things you will never talk about, you held on to that flicker of light. It was what kept you going, even in the face of death. When you found out that it was impossible for you to die in this place, you thought it was a miracle, a sign that there might be a chance, just a little one, of you making it at. So you ran from the demons and hid, trying to give your rescuers enough time to reach you. You even had a companion, though every time you found each other, you were separated within minutes. And then he disappeared. You thought- _hoped_ –that it might be a sign. That you were to be saved. But no one came. You were left alone, the sole plaything of two angry, no _enraged_ , angels. And anything you were ever told about them was completely wrong. They are made of wrath, sadism, and hatred. They are roses that have been left so long, the weeds have overtaken them, and their thorns have become daggers. They do not know of compassion or love or mercy. And now, neither do you.

You stopped running weeks, months, _years_ ago, because you knew it wouldn’t help. Outrunning them was impossible, even if this cage is infinite, you could never run far enough away. They always caught you. They always found you. That’s their sport, their entertainment. Whoever found you first was the winner, and only they were allowed to defile your corpse. Because even if your pulse raced with fear as they began their game, even if your nerves screamed as they took their winnings from you, you were a corpse. You had no life, no purpose, no meaning. You were nothing. You are nothing. The angels told you so. Whispered it in your ear as they took out their hatred, pain, and sorrow on you. Chanted it as you ran. Repeated it over and over until you believed it. They are angels after all. They are perfection, lovingly crafted by God’s own hands. You are merely the leftovers. A child of a child of a child of flawed abortions made of mud and shit and vomit. Your existence is the result of incestuous and shadowy dealings that have carried genetic flaws through the ages. You are pathetic. You are disgusting. You are nothing compared to their glory. They are God’s children, you are his _creation_. You were made on a dare, just to see if He could, and then you were cast onto a forsaken rock to breed like rabbits and destroy the few gifts He granted you. You have no worth.

The angels grew bored, though. Your screaming had become habit, rather than true feeling. It wasn’t fun for them anymore. So they left you alone. And in the darkness, your mind began to ferment. The voices of despair and pain and hatred began to talk. You tried not to listen, but how could you resist? Who else could you trust but yourself? These voices whispered things to you, painful truths you wished to forget. Things you had tried to bury. They brought them to you, like gifts, and forced you to unwrap them. And then they unravelled _you_. They tore away your flesh and set free your blood. Every sinew, every muscle, every bone was taken from you. And then they put you back together again the wrong way round. They forgot bits and pieces, or left them out on purpose. They sewed your skin together without anaesthetic and left you without bandages. They poured your blood down your gullet rather than into your veins. They duct-taped your soul in place, but didn’t remember to give you back your mind. And then they retreated in the darkness.

You were alone again.

Echoes of shadows of broken pieces of memories played in your mind. They were jagged and cut at you in a way the angels never had. Smiling faces faded to dead eyes and vacant smiles. Love was replaced by hate, and hate was worn away by apathy. You crawled into yourself, chasing those few, precious memories that gave you warmth. But they were always just out of reach. You could feel them against the tips of your fingers, like the feathers of a dove brushing your skin, only for them to be pulled further away. After a while, you gave up. You couldn’t fight anymore. There was nothing left in you. Your courage was gone, and your hope had withered and died. You collapsed and didn’t get up again. Closed your eyes and let the nothingness overtake you. Everyone you had ever loved or cared for was gone. You had been betrayed. You had been battered and bruised and beaten so many times your skin wasn’t sure what its original colour had been. You were a faded, burnt out, bedraggled copy of your former self. You were a ghost.

And then, one day, as you lay there waiting for some kind of end, it happened. A light flashed through your eyelids, blinding after so much time in the dark. A hand gripped your shoulder, so light and gentle after years of brutality. You were lifted up as a voice, no _thousands_ of voices, chanted, ‘ _I wish for Adam Milligan to be saved_ ’. You tried to open your eyes, but the light stung. It engulfed you like a blanket, or the hugs your mother used to give you when you were frightened. And that light has ignited your hope once more. It has banished the shadows surrounding your mind, and healed the wounds upon your flesh. You have arisen. You are no longer a caged beast, but a free man.

Adam Milligan, you are saved. 

* * *

 

Breath raced back into Adam’s lungs as he sat up with a start, the voice of his saviour still echoing in his head.

“ _You are alive, Adam. This is not a trick. I will not draw back the curtains to reveal a façade, only life. I have saved you because it was demanded of me by thousands. And they would not be silenced. They were the voices of justice, and they demanded to be heard. So here you are. Your body is healed and whole, your mind is restored. But your soul is scarred. You must carry those scars with pride. The cage can’t hurt you anymore. Now it’s just a nightmare, and I will bless you with forgetting the worst of it. Brave heart, Adam. God has saved you_.”

He shook his head like a wet dog and took a deep breath. The air felt pure and clean compared to the fetid atmosphere of the cage. He ran his hands through the grass around him, relishing its touch. It was warm, possibly mid-afternoon, and his body soaked it all up. He wasn’t a corpse anymore. He was alive.


End file.
